Disclaimer: I do not own PJO or HoO
Walking by himself was a feat Percy was able to achieve another month after his release from the infirmary. The process had been slow and, at times, it seemed that progress would not be made. Calypso persevered in guiding him, rehabilitating his muscles to regain even a fraction of the strength he once had. It had worked, but it took time.
That was fine. Time was all they had left and all they will have for as long as they remained in their prison. In between accompanying her mate in his return trips to the infirmary, managing the Engineering faction, and performing as acting head of the Demigods, even time seemed like a scarce commodity to her. She would crumble soon, she could feel it, but she persevered.
Annabeth released a sigh of relief after Percy had finished yet another session with Calypso in their makeshift physical therapy room. While it seemed that he had returned to his old self, bouts of weakness still returned unexpectedly and she had to watch him carefully lest he falters and falls. Nevertheless, his crutches had done its job to take him to the suite.
She worries that he was pushing himself much harder than he usually does in recovering. It seemed that Perseus Jackson held a dangerous sense of responsibility for all under his governance and being out of commission for as long as he had been forced him to perform the impossible. She could not blame him for such a notion. She had been in the same position before.
Now that he became more mobile, he insisted that he accompany her to more frequent therapy sessions with Dr. Brunner. It had only been when he was walking alongside her to the familiar, quaint corner of the facility when her mental instability finally settled on her. She conceded to his persuasive urging and dedicated yet another hour of the time she cannot give to herself.
Of course, the psychiatrist had maintained an air of professionalism despite the terrible things Annabeth had told him. It seemed that Chiron had enough experience with living nightmares that it did not seem to bother him anymore. Their world was a hellish landscape of death and war and ghoulish beings and even night terrors could not compare. It was saddening to see young adults with bright and inspiring futures feeling nothing but resentful and nostalgic.
When the long sessions finished, she would return to her endless cycle of exhaustion and insanity, never heeding Dr. Brunner's advice of resting or doing something she enjoyed for once. Since the incident with the Rogues, she needed to fill the shoes of three highly capable individuals and her own. Was it a good thing that she was beginning to get used to insomnia? To snapping at her friends and hearing voices in her head?
Percy knew this, of course. He was observant of her behavior now that he could watch her. He worried for her unnecessarily and, maybe, his insistence on a quicker recovery was more for her sake than anyone else's. He was especially concerned for an unhealthy obsession she had developed.
In the few months that have passed since the destruction of the first Briares, her most prized creation, she had kept an arm for herself to keep in the suite as a reminder of what was. The pieces weren't salvageable and the arm in itself was rusted and deformed but she kept it and she treasured it. It sat on a makeshift pedestal of scrap wood on top of a shelf they had no use for, not that far from the lit candle of their deceased families.
On rare occasions wherein she had nothing to do or could afford to distance herself from her responsibilities, she would take the arm from the pedestal and tinker with its design obsessively, or that was what Thalia had told her but a week ago.
"You talk to yourself when you're fixing it," Percy said one morning, his gaze at the ceiling. While the dark circles under his eyes only continued to deepen, he seemed much healthier than he had been while he was in his coma.
She had nearly forgotten that he had said something. "What do you mean?" She replied, rolling over to meet his eyes. He glanced at her briefly before fixing his eyes on the white plaster again.
"The arm, when you're sketching or making adjustments, you talk to yourself." He clarified with ease. His hands found hers and squeezed, "If you need someone to talk to, Annabeth, I'm here." She hadn't even realized that she had this habit, to begin with. Was her mind so deprived and so broken that she found entertainment in such a menial task? When will she learn to accept that the first Briares was destroyed… that she could start over?
Annabeth frowned, "Yeah, I know." Her reply was dismissive, indicating that she did not wish to speak of it any longer. That seemed to upset him.
"You've been really quiet since I came back." There was more force behind his words now, not quite accusing her but close. "You used to tell me everything, now I'm finding out through other people that you've been having problems."
That had stung but she refused to acknowledge it. She sat up and moved away from him, wishing to be alone once more. A part of her wished to crawl back into his warm arms and cry. The larger, more logical yet insane part kept her in her place. Percy had so nearly died once. She needed to prepare herself in case the tragic situation of his permanent death was to occur. She could not keep relying on another during the apocalypse.
She was surprised to feel his large, calloused palm against her cheek and his free hand pulling her to his lap. She did not resist the movement, welcoming his warmth openly despite the rapid beating of her heart and the guilt that welled in her stomach. "I can see how you look at me, 'Beth." He muttered into her hair, both arms around her back until her head was against his chest. "I know that you're only trying to protect yourself. I know how difficult it was for you when I… when you thought I wouldn't wake up. We're here, we're alive and we're together. You don't have to do everything on your own."
"I haven't realized just how much I've been relying on you until you were attacked." Her voice was soft and rough, "Suddenly, our situation just got very real very quickly, that there was a chance you weren't coming back and I wouldn't be able to recover from it. I love you, Percy, and I don't want to think about losing you but I almost did and I don't want to feel so… broken anymore."
He nodded his understanding, smoothing down her wild blonde curls in a soothing, repetitive motion. "I can't take it out on you to feel this way." His voice was soft and etched with grief, "When Luke got to you, I couldn't stop thinking about what would have happened if I didn't reach you in time. Those three days were the worst I've ever gone through and you had to experience it eight times over."
"That doesn't matter anymore. What matters is you're here now and the Rogues have hell to pay for what they've done." His laugh echoed throughout their suite, warm and real and so very charming. She couldn't help but laugh along with him, her tears spilling over and making her vision blurry.
It had surprised her how easily she had glossed over the incident involving Luke Castellan, how her mind had not replayed her trauma like it had done so many times before. She was far from forgetting what had happened but the fear that was associated with the memory was nothing compared to those twenty-five days of hell she was forced to endure.
He met her eyes and smiled kindly, placing a kiss on her lips as both reassurance and comfort. She could not remember the last time they had kissed like this; it must have been months at that point. His hands insistently wandered over her skin, nearly in desperation. It seemed that something had sparked between them, a need that longed to be fulfilled since the attack. He did not hold her with the strength that he used to but she could still feel raw muscle and inhuman power behind gentle caresses and soft whispers of love and adoration.
His bare chest was marred with scars and healing flesh when she finally gathered the strength to discard his shirt. His eyes were dark with lust and something else, something good and pure in a world built to torment them. Their lips broke apart long enough for them to catch their breaths. Her fingers gently traced the remnants of his unbandaged injuries, still raw and new but closing. He was still careful, however, as he placed her gently on her back and hovered over her, terrified to agitated the wounds lest he bleeds again.
It was at this point in their endeavors wherein she would stop further development, yet he found no resistance as his hands tugged at the hem of her nightgown. A part of her still believed that his awakening had been but a cruel dream her broken mind created to cope with her loss, that his return was a figment of her overactive imagination. She wanted to be reassured that he was real, that he existed. He was the only face she saw now as he undressed her, slowly as to not incite unwanted memories. His mouth moved to her neck, marking her as his as if their small world did not know that already.
She was transfixed by him when he finally presented himself bare before her. He was a beautiful man, a fact that did not change despite the injuries he sustained. What had nearly been the cause of his death accentuated his strength, his resolve to face the world and who had wronged him and those he loved.
He kissed her once more, "My beautiful Annabeth." His words sent shivers down her spine. "Are you sure?"
Still quite the gentleman. "I would stop you if I'm not." She smiled gently and caressed his face, thankful that the scar on his cheekbone was shallow. He was so very handsome. "I love you, Seaweed Brain. I want this." He nodded and released a shaky breath, meeting her lips once more.
The bliss that had followed was difficult even for someone as eloquent as her to explain. This was real. He was real. His touch, his warmth, his voice. Percy Jackson was here and alive and not merely a concoction created by her sick mind. She loved him so fiercely that it terrified and exhilarated her. She had so nearly forgotten of their hell, of the monsters lurking around them, of the thick scent of death and fear that shrouded them. In that bubble, she was safe. They were happy. Nothing will come and hurt them for as long as they stayed together.
They would have gone for hours had it not been for the sudden bouts of weakness Percy still experiences from his injuries. After their second bout of lovemaking, he had smiled apologetically and gestured to his wounds, disappointed and frustrated by his physical limitations, limitations that would not have been a problem just a few months ago when he was at the peak of his performance. Alas, fate had planned it differently.
She smiled at him gently in reassurance, smoothing the lines on his forehead with her thumb. She did not say anything. The silence that weighed on them was sacred and beautiful, the aftermath of their intimacy that should not be disrupted. For the first time, his expression was solemn, satisfied… happy. Her own cheeks ached from smiling too much, an overwhelming feeling of relief settling over her as a thought crossed her mind.
She had recovered. She had moved past her fear and made love to the man who loved her. Not once did the white hallway and cold blue eyes flash in the forefronts of her mind as Percy touched her because her body had finally learned the difference between the two men. Here was a man who will die to protect her, broken and beaten into submission by their circumstances yet fighting with every ounce of strength he held. Percy will never hurt her. She does not fear him. That revelation had lightened a load in her chest that she did not know existed.
It took another while before she opted to speak to him. His eyes were half-closed and struggling to stay open, a small yawn leaving his mouth as he adjusted the covers over their still-naked flesh. She snuggled closer to him, careful not to agitate any of his wounds accidentally.
"I think the best thing to do now is to escape." She said, her voice still hoarse and heart thumping out of her chest. She had missed the novelty of his expression as her eyes were fixated on the ceiling.
He hummed, "I wish it were that easy," was his reply, finally closing his eyes completely.
It wasn't that easy, of course. They couldn't be expected to carry a large group of thirty through the post-apocalyptic wasteland, no matter how ready they are to defend themselves against the ghouls. The atmosphere was still irradiated and will be for quite some time. The streets still littered with corpses and soldiers, savages and victims. This was the safest they could be, in their prison.
She had fallen asleep not long after.
The birth of Silena and Charles' baby occurred roughly a year into their imprisonment.
At that point, even someone as meticulous and as organized as Annabeth Chase had lost track of the days. The mornings blurred together with the nights, the hours sometimes felt like days and the days like seconds. Briares 2.0 was getting along nicely, despite making only half of their original progress.
Percy had finally been allowed to perform his responsibilities to his full capability. His recovery had been exceptional since he was permitted by Will Solace to swim once more. For a moment, Annabeth truly believed that it was the water that gave him life. It had revitalized him, made his skin glow and his strength to return. He had never looked better than after he had exposed himself to the water. Her Percy was back and she had never felt more relieved.
Silena had gone into labor on the afternoon of a training day. They were on their lunch break, thus all the demigods were gathered in the atrium, slowly getting more and more run down as the days passed. Annabeth was seated beside the pregnant woman, as she and Percy were deep in conversation with Charles Beckendorf over Briares 2.0.
The beautiful brunette had excused herself to go to the bathroom and was in the process of standing up, with difficulty now that a large globe was attached to her abdomen when clear liquid gushed to the floor. For a moment, Annabeth thought that Silena had lost control of her bladder and had somehow peed herself. A quick look at her expression proved otherwise.
"My water broke." Her voice was barely above a whisper, downright terrified.
It took a few moments for the statement to sink in. All eyes were on them. A breath, two. "What?" Charles' incredulous voice called in a panic. Percy was immediately on his feet, assisting Silena on a bench as they waited for Clarisse La Rue to retrieve the wheelchair.
Silena Beauregard's face contorted with discomfort as she placed a hand against the side of her stomach, taking deep breaths as her contractions became stronger. Beckendorf held her hand and whispered words of encouragement to her ear, refusing to let go despite Silena's inhumanly painful grip. At the arrival of the wheelchair, her mate had transferred her to the device and wheeled her to the infirmary.
She was in labor for six hours. Their small group of leaders waited outside of the clinic, hearing Silena's pained screams and Will's encouragements of 'Push. Very good, Silena. Just a little more." and "You can do it, Lena." Listening was an ordeal on her part. She could not even fathom how actually performing the grueling task of giving birth was on the mother. Thus, when all of them heard the high-pitched screech of an infant, relief and warmth flooded their systems.
Annabeth met Percy's eyes, hers brimming with tears at the sound of new life flooding the stark white hallways and piercing through the wall of fear and desperation they had built around them. This child, and all those who come after him, will be their hope. "We will protect him with our lives," Percy vowed, leaning his head against the wall.
When they were finally allowed to meet him – well, her, the newborn was a girl – Silena had to ask Annabeth three times before she was convinced to hold the baby. She must have tired herself out from all that wailing for her to have fallen asleep so peacefully. Despite what she had just gone through, Silena Beauregard was still absolutely beautiful.
Outside, Percy and Charles were speaking of the new living arrangements that will best fit the child's needs. Now that they were protecting a helpless human being, they must be moved to a room that was more secure than what they previously had. Clarisse was more than a sufficient bodyguard, yes, but Clarisse cannot be present to watch over them at all times. Thus, she and her mate had decided to use one of the spare suites on their end of the hall for the new Beckendorf home. There, the family could be under the watchful eye of all three leaders of the Organization and Clarisse La Rue.
"She looks just like you." Annabeth commented, smiling brightly at the exhausted Silena. The new mother returned the gesture, "Have you decided on a name yet?"
"Yeah. Charlie and I have been talking about it for a while." Annabeth handed her the baby back and she handled her child with the ease and instinct she suddenly developed. "We decided to name her Pandora. She is the keeper of our hope, of mankind's hope, the first step to a new future."
Pandora. As Annabeth looked into the blissful, sleeping face of the newborn, a newfound determination ignited inside of her. There was no way she will allow Pandora to grow up in a devastated world or a prison of a home. She will do all that it takes to ensure that the future generation will not be left traversing through a wasteland. They will build a future their children will look forward to. That, she swore with her life.